I went back to Switzerland for the first time in 4 years and this time solo. This was going to be my trip, my pace, my choice on where and when and how far I would hike in between visiting family. No translating for anyone, in fact no English at all.
My plan was flexible other that trying to meet up with aunts and uncles and cousins when they could fit it in their schedule. Most of my cousins are teachers and their five week vacation did not start until half of my trip was over. I wanted to do three trips ranging between four and five days each. I definitively wanted to explore the Alpstein range some more, in the eastern canton ( state) of Appenzell, because I was there four years ago with my daughter and could not see nearly as much as I had wanted. This was also a place my mother loved and explored when she was young. Since the Appenzeller Alps are the lowest in elevation I was going there first and hope for less snow than last time. Then I would probably go where my cousins had inherited an old stone house , in the Bernese Alps , because I could use that as a place to keep my things, rest up and head for another adventure. The third trip, I was not sure yet; cantons Uri and Schwyz ( two of the original three to found the federation) were on my radar, not sure why. That was what I thought I might do. I switched a couple things around.
I packed too much, but I kept most of my stuff at my uncle and aunts house and chose what to bring on each trip depending on weather and what I learned from my previous trip.
I bought a fairly expensive Swiss Pass ( about 500 dollars) but it covered all trains, buses, metro, boats, ( museums too) and half of the various gondolas and lifts if I was going to use them. I did not use the system for that much money but I was able to hop on anything without ever thinking of cost or having to buy a ticket before boarding. I downloaded the SBB app on my phone and could enter my starting point ( as in the house I was at) and my destination, with preferences either for departure or arrival time, and in seconds I had an the itinerary. It often read arriving at station B at x hours and 53 minutes and taking the next train at x hours and 55 minutes. Trains averaged 20 second delays and that during a heat wave that caused many rails to bend and buck and some re routing. Getting to the starting point of all three trips took under 2.5 hours . Trains were full of outdoorsy people, business people from all over the world and near cities lots of people from China as Switzerland has been looking east for trade agreements.
The transportation network allowed me to not really care where my trip would end, because I could take a Postauto from very remote locations to a train station and make my way back pretty quickly. Postautos are mail delivery busses for small villages that also shuttle people around. The SBB and the Post work together and the app. includes both systems. Drivers were very friendly and would stop at most locations if asked; they also waited for people running toward the stop to make it. What a concept. Dogs are allowed on the entire transportation network ( and in most restaurants and businesses) and ride free if small enough to fit on your lap, or pay half a ticket.
Most trains and busses had free wifi but I had some problems getting the required access codes via text in some instances.
I chose places that were not on any tourist route and two of the three places were not known to most Swiss. The Alpstein offers some really easy hiking in the valleys and the Swiss love the Appenzell to begin with, so on the weekend the valleys were pretty busy with hikers and climbers heading to the Altman. Germans and Austrians also love the region and almost half the climbers in the area seemed to come from one of those countries.
For the first time in my life I paid extra to fly direct SFO to Zürich and it was worth the extra couple hundred dollars since time is more and more precious. Swiss authorities at port of entry welcomed me home, literally.
My mother's brother Marcel and his wife Rosmarie picked me up, by train. They are both in their early 80's but don't look it at all. We got to their house in a half an hour. We talked plans and it had already been arranged that the following day would be all about rhubarb and visiting cousins ( with rhubarb cake and rhubarb pie and rhubarb jam). I had my own room, which used to be their two older girls room, my cousins. All four of their kids and all nine of their grandkids live within a 15 minute drive. Same with the family of my other uncle Louis.
At dinner I was quickly reminded that this family says grace before every meal. My aunt says it in high German, which made my smile . We only spoke in Schwyzertütsch and mostly listened to the same on the radio, but somehow God does not understand that so she switched to a more formal language ( I don't mean to be disrespectful here). After the meal we sit and listen to the news on the radio, my uncle just listening and us two women knitting. I brought my project with me, a light sweater with a purposely fairly intricate pattern; this will be a piece of conversation and bonding throughout my trip. My aunt comments on the difficulty of my work, but she is wearing something she made no less difficult than what I am making: she is really just expressing approval. The yarn I chose however is a blend of cotton and some synthetic fiber and that needs some explaining: "I almost always knit with wool aunt Rosmarie, but this yarn was given to me so I am knitting it up " . Ah….redeemed for using what I have, frugality trumping fiber content..
My aunt and uncle are making me feel at home and truly part of their family. I still feel that love.
My next day is the only one I will be getting into a car for my entire stay. We visit cousins and aunts and eat and laugh and I am told the dialect of Swiss I use reminds everyone of our grandparents who were originally from Cantons Solothurn and Baselland and moved to the Zürich Oberland region after a long stay in Marocco, where both of my uncles were born. While I was born in canton Zürich, I am a citizen of canton Baselland because one gets that from their father, or in my case from my maternal grandfather. Anyway….at night I am planning my escape, ok not really, but I am looking at maps and deciding where exactly to start my trip in the Alpstein. There are several options and I change my mind a few hours before morning and get my new itinerary on my phone.
A little explanation of the word Alp: the Alps ( die Alpen) are just what you think they are. "Alp" ( Die Alp) can be just higher up the mountain that you are currently on. "An Alp " ( en Alp) is a settlement where herdsmen live and tend to their stock during the summer months .
Bus, train, train, train, bus and I am at Brülisau an hour and fourty minutes later.
It's warm and humid out and it will get warmer every day that I am here until two days before my return. Thankfully the steepest part of this late morning hike is mostly in the shade ; water is running fast in the little canyon that I keep flanking and I keep wetting my bandana and my hat. I encounter a few day hikers, a couple of them with dogs, offleash, which I prefer and which is allowed unless it is problem.
Faster than planned I am at the Sämtisersee ( a lake) and continue along the long narrow valley. Toward the end of it I could head for the place I have been missing for years, the Fählenalp or …I see a little trail heading up between these awesome rock formations. The map calles it Bogartlücke and it goes up steeply and back down almost as steeply into the valley containing the Seealpsee ( another lake).
Why not; it is hot but I feel good, no one else to consult, I have everything I need, I can hop between the three valley several times and really get to know the passes and places off the dayhikers radar. It looked harder than it actually was and I was able to enjoy one of many unbelievable wildflower displays that just blew my mind; I heard repeatedly that this was the best wildflower year in a long time .
Through a lot of my hiking here and elsewhere I was accompanied by the presence of cows, sometimes in impossibly steep areas, by the sound of bells and by cow pies on the ground . Herdsmen, which is a more accurate term than "farmer" bring their cows and goats to higher ground in the spring and summer, to get the best milk. What these cows get to feed on up there is so rich and lush and diverse, no wonder they produce outstanding milk and cheese. As the summer progresses the cows are led to pasture higher and higher into the mountains. Most herdsmen I spent time with own between eight and fifteen milking cows and a few calves and steer. The cows are milked three times a day and often the herdsmen have a "knecht" ( farm help) that will bring them in and back out. The bells give each herd a distinct sound with their combinations of higher pitched small bells and lower pitched larger bells. Binoculars are also used to locate the herd on the mountain. Goats go even higher and in more difficult terrain and a couple of times I ran into someone with a milk jug worn as a backpack, heading up to find and milk the little scramblers. Talking to the herdsmen (and -women ) was one of the highlights of my trip but could be challenging as well. As each canton uses a different dialect and in some areas each valley speaks their own version of that, communication gets interesting. Town folk seem to be able to neutralize their dialect to a watered down version which is easier to understand. In more rural areas people don't do that very much and their dialects are quite deep. This is less than two hours but three cantons away from my family and even they have a hard time understanding a conversation between locals of different regions that are that close to them.
While I was clearly a "flatlander " to most of the people from these more mountainous cantons, and an odd lady to boot, it was duly noted that I seemed hardy and did not have "skinny fingers" like town people. That I worked with my hands was obvious and gave me some needed mountain credit. I never did bring up my adventures with mountain lions to boost my score either ;)
Back to my hike…
I make it to the little saddle, eat a little and head down toward the valley and then toward the end of the valley where the beautiful Seealpsee lies.
A small herd of white goats with bells follows me on the little road that leads to the few houses nestled in the boulders for protection.
I briefly check my map and look up to a pass I want to get to the next day and decide to explore the opposite side of the mountain a little, hopefully finding a suitable spot to spend the night. I ask a woman living in the last house of the valley if I can head up a ways and pitch my tent and I get her and her husbands permission. Finding a spot flat enough and not filled by a boulder is a little challenging but it happened . I left my pack on a rock and scrambled around a bit unfortunately without my camera. I sat in a spot with a sweet view and took notes and cherished everything around me, free of the need to share it with anyone at that moment. I start realizing how I can really just walk and choose moment to moment where I want to go, particularly in this range that is relatively small . I walk back down to the farm house and buy some of their "mild" cheese. I think my pack still smells a bit from that…
Back up again to my spot, a little bread and cheese and Späck and I set up my Hexamid and I am out before it is even fully dark.
Morning is nice and cool and I skip breakfast other than a cup of coffee I make with my Caldera and MSR Titan kettle. I start heading up before it gets too hot. First I pass the few houses and many cows and then I cannot see how there could be a trail up between a few trees and then in the cliffs, but it is there.
Steps are nice and short as locals here are the smallest of the Swiss, but the elevation gain is remarkably quick and a few cables come in handy in the exposed areas. I keep looking down at the little settlement at the end of the lake and very soon it is but a few dots.
There is a high meadow here and another Alp. A few homes, a chapel and even a little hotel. For being a little town Meglisalp it is as lovely as can be.
I stop to sit and observe the milking and the dogs that run around, one intent on mounting the other ( both males). I am not tired really but I am in no hurry to leave either. This isn't about getting anywhere. I sit on a rock wall next to the chapel and snack on cheese and bread. I see a few climbers head toward a different trail than I will be taking, ropes, carabiners, picks …either Deuter packs or Mammut. Pants are almost all Mammut. I am impressed by the range of ages, everywhere in the mountains. Happy as I am where I am sitting I decide to make a move and find my trail.
I am soon passed by a young ( 18?) woman wearing a milk jug on her back; I barely understand that she is looking for the goats, but she said much more than that.
Past a few buildings that are partially built in the rock, and Meglisalp now looks smaller and smaller as I head to the pass.
It gets windier and more rocky and there is no sound of cow bells. I get a little rain but it is over the moment I am over the pass and start the descent.
I am heading toward the far end of the valley I started at the previous day. I pass another "Alp" and stop for a few minutes to drink a fresh glass of goat milk, unpasteurized, still warm. The only "game" is in the aftertaste but not much at all. Down into cow world again and the up through a small pass into the third valley. I make another detour and pass the valley going up , not sure where, but it looks worth exploring. It was. Up and down along the range with beautiful views. No "alp" up there, so I camp without asking anyone for permission.
Up early again I look at the map and why not, go up through an unnamed but doable little pass that leads me once again to the first valley, but on a trail almost at the ridge for a good three hours. Down again, I am getting to see this first lake from all different directions. I walk the length of the valley again and over to the Fählenalp, after I pass the stunning Fählensee ( the smaller of the three main lakes).
There is a farm settlement at the far end , among big boulders again, and I stop for some fresh milk.
The farm lady is there with her herd, two kids and three young farm hands, two of them from Austria. The four of them communicate with each other in some pretty funny sounding versions of high German. They are eating lunch outside and the guys are helping with the two kids; Emil is almost three and Killian is one.
Claudia, the young mom, is here without her dad for the first summer and her husband is in town with their school age daughter Julia for another week. This place is possibly the most beautiful place I have ever seen.
The valley beyond the lake is simply stunning. I am in no hurry to leave. We chat and I tell Caudia about my little adventure and she invites me to stay the rest of the day and if I want I can sleep above the cow stalls with the farm help. There are several bunks up there, but no light and it smells and the cows will be noisy and the outhouse is over there . Sounds great to me.
Everyone gets busy again, the guys sharpen their scythes and go on to cut the buttercups because cows don't eat them fresh and prefer them slightly wilted on the ground.
Claudia disappears in the little stone house, I think. Emil and I are left alone and the little guy talks away not caring or realizing that I don't understand a lot of his particularly thick dialect, made more difficult because it is a little kid talking. He wants to play soccer and we do all over the place, finally in the concrete pit that is meant for the pigs that are not there. Emil informs me I need to help him as he needs to crap ( trying to convey the direct language he used). I do….help him.
When it's time to bring the cows in for milking Emil shows off and tries to get one in the stall himself . A good try.
It starts raining and I am invited in the house, in the tiny "Stube" which is kept warm with a small Kacheloven. I kept both kids busy in the dry room for the full hour of rain.
Hours later I am laying above the stalls: I hear every move the cows make, in fact the slats in the floor have gaps that let me see bits of the bovines. I hear every piss and fart and crap they take. I choose the bunk on the end by a window. The guys' bunks are on the other end of the loft. They pull the latter up when they come in for the night and I am thankful for having a bladder that lets me sleep though the night.
Morning goodbyes and now walking through the end of the valley and up toward the Zwinglipass.
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My plan is to make it up there and then down the mountain to get on a bus. The morning light is truly magical and the clouds are feathering through the cliffs.
This was the a photographer's dream day. Up through a few small snow fields and I am quickly at the pass. There is a SAC hut nearby and I stop by to get a drink. The hut warden recommends I go to the Altman and the Rotstein pass. He said the snowfields are a little steep but going up should be easy. He does mention that going down to Rotstein is not for the faint but I mostly hear him say there is a good cable. Minutes later I am off, thankful again to be alone and able to keep going and change routes as I wish. Looks like I am making this trip a day longer .
Up the snowfields, with tracks set a little further apart than my short legs, I reach the sattle and peak over the one foot crest into the void or just about.
I have to go back a few feet and sit down. Just that one look made me dizzy and I felt like an idiot for being up there. Turn around? I seriously considered that. Peak over again long enough to see the cable going almost straight down. I back off again and sit down and feel like a wuss. I think I cussed out loud in a couple of languages Wtf I am doing here alone? What was I thinking? Then I pull it together enough to make a commitment to myself not to look down. I will put my poles away, tighten my boot laces and my pack and I will only look at my feet and the next step and my hands holding on to the cable. I manage to stick to my commitment and slowly make it down , only stopping for a couple of pictures in places that feel relatively safe to me. This is no biggie for some or maybe many, but for me ….It took a lot to get my fear under control and keep going.
At one point I dislodged a rock the size of a big orange and it disappeared without bouncing off of anything. Two people are coming up and I let them know that I will do what protocol requires ( and let me know what that is…) but that this is difficult moment for me . They stop and kindly let me continue going down and tell me that going up is much easier. I appreciated that ..
Once down the cabled part I sit and look up for a a few minutes. I am still high above the surrounding mountains except the Säntis and the Altman, but no longer on a thin ridge and all is good in my world again.
A few hours later I am back to a familiar Alp , but approached it from a different direction. I am getting to know the lay of these three valleys pretty well. Great night of sleep starts before it's even dark ( which happens about 10:15 pm) . Perfect spot for my little shelter but I missed the alpenglow and dinner.
The following day I head down some more but before I am at the bottom of the valley I decide to go up again on a trail I see because I cannot get enough of these mountains and I feel good and there is no one with me too tired or not into it or on a schedule.
Once at the dead end tracks of the little train station at the beginning of this particular valley I figure out my itinerary and I am back with family by dinner.
My pack, the Kalais, was comfortable, plenty large and survived quite a bit of scraping along rock. The hipbelt is a gem but it does loosen up on occasion and needs readjusting. Side pockets are large and easily accessible while on the move. This is also a most beautiful pack :).
Other gear….go ahead and ask if you are interested. Otherwise, everything worked well enough and was light enough .
Some more pictures here..
https://www.flickr.com/photos/katpierini/sets/72157655746709492
Edited, again …to add :
I keep mentioning a mountain called the "Altman ". It means "old man".
This:
It became clear to me only after I was laying down for a while, looking at it from my tent
